The Last Suppers Of The Tongue Poem by Georgi Gospodinov

I like a piece of tongue for supper
of the speechless kind
muscular and tough
the tongue of cow or bull or calf
the tongue that's mute and dumb
the tongue of those before us
the tongue of grandpa Whitman and my grandpa
the tongue in which he cursed
the sheep with kindness
the tongue in which they understood
the tongue of father Eliot and my own father
their acquaintance all too brief
the tongue of grandma Emily and grandma Lisa
of my own grandma when she lures
the queen-bee and the swarm
maaat-mat-maaat*
the sacred tongue
(the tongue alone will do
if bees are few)

I long for such a tongue the tongue in general
and I am grateful and I'm not too
squeamish or repulsed
I keep on
eating drinking resurrecting you
just like the faithful sons
their fathers eat and drink
………………………
like this you probably attain
the tongue with every dish

Translated from Bulgarian by Dimiter Kenarov